He looked back with regret to that peace of soul, that security of virtue, which till then had been his portion.

He had indulged in excesses whose very idea but four and twenty hours before He had recoiled at with horror.

He shuddered at reflecting that a trifling indiscretion on his part, or on Matilda's, would overturn that fabric of reputation which it had cost him thirty years to erect, and render him the abhorrence of that People of whom He was then the Idol.

Conscience painted to him in glaring colours his perjury and weakness; Apprehension magnified to him the horrors of punishment, and He already fancied himself in the prisons of the Inquisition.

To these tormenting ideas succeeded Matilda's beauty, and those delicious lessons which, once learnt, can never be forgotten.
A single glance thrown upon these reconciled him with himself.